Chapter 2 The Two Views

There was once a poet named Sutardji Calzoum Bachri whose idea was to free words from their meaning. So the words themselves are the meaning. Cryptic probably, but that's how you may describe my father's love for cars. He loved cars no matter what, even when the car was so old that it didn't deliver its function anymore. Even when the car brought more discomfort than comfort. The car itself mattered, not its function or the social status it brought about. A pure love against structured metal.

"Vroom, vroom!" the engine of the suspiciously old car that my father just acquired revved up, then "Rrrr ... rrrr", it spluttered almost immediately. For him, it was time for fun.

Akin to his father, my Brother Dallo believed that the meaning of a thing is in the thing itself, not on its name or brand. A good car is a good car no matter what the make is. The difference to his father was, to him, cars should be loved for their functions and the comfort they brought about. Used cars, of whatever make, that required extra maintenance, would be a no-no to him, never mind broken cars. He would prefer a brand new low-end mini car such as the Toyota Agya than a second-hand BMW that required a lot of maintenance.

Back when he and Gal lived in the States, he purchased cars, and that was the only time he committed to owning cars. First, he needed a car to get around there since public transportation in the US was not as convenient as in any other developed country. Secondly, the cars he acquired were brand new, and every time something wrong happened to the car, or if the car required maintenance, all he had to do was to drive it to one of the many designated service stations. He would leave it there, get a replacement car, and come back a couple of days later when the car was made ready. He loved it. The comfort.

These were the two views on cars in our family, my father the purist, and my Brother the functionalist. Of course, I subscribed to my Brother's view, a pragmatic view on material things and their function. My father was a hobbyist, so nothing wrong with that. But then there was a third view, subscribed only by my other brother, Dungi. To him, a car was useful as a means to convey social status. It mattered a whole lot less if the car was functioning as it should be, as long as it made him look cool and rich.

"Well, look at those successful people, the rich. They care about the car's design. They care about the makers. Because the maker represents the quality of the car," Dungi would argue.

"They are rich, they can even afford to be silly if they wanted to after being smart most of the time –assuming the money was honest and earned. You just started your first week on your first job. Driving around in Dad's BMW doesn't communicate success, it communicates that you are a spoiled son. A wannabe," my Brother Dallo would say unreservedly to Dungi, a brother whose views on materialism he always wanted to fix.

Then my mother would chime in, "Successful people communicate their successes through the cars they own, but the reversed sequence doesn't work, Dungi. You shall not lead your friends to believe that you are earning a lot by driving your Dad's BMW. You are still a front desk customer service agent. Don't be a fake!"

In the good old days when both of my parents were still alive, good values prevailed. Dungi was always willing to listen to his parents and big brother and obey them. Or so it seemed. His typical defense would only go as far as,

"But it's just for this time Mom. Let me borrow the car to work."

"You've been driving the BMW since the day you started your job. Why won't you drive the other car? It'll bring you there," my mother would ask, with a smile forming on her face, ready to tease Dungi further.

The other car was an old make of Datsun, a Japanese car that my dad maintained so well it looked new, but old. Very old. There was no way that car could be used to show off in a hang-out with buddies. Funnily however, Dallo would have no qualms driving around in that car, although at that time he already commanded a handsome income. He was the one who bought the BMW for my father, so he could enjoy his retirement with a functioning and nice-looking car.

"But today is Friday." Dungi's hang-out day.

"Exactly why you shouldn't be driving the BMW. You should not be a poseur. Eventually, you will be forced to do many wrong things to keep up appearances and prevent your truths from being revealed." That was the continual preach my Brother gave to Dungi back when he was still an aspiring young man up until he was a father raising his son and a family.

The birthplace of this story.

My mother loved the comfort. She was a big spender on comfort, especially if it was for her children. But the damage was limited to spending on food. While sometimes she would spend beyond her means when it came to food, she never spent more than she could afford on branded things or jewelry. My father? He would not spend. Period. Not even on his hobby, cars. Only when the cars were desperately cheap would he buy them. That was why, over time, we had experienced many crappy cars parked in our tiny house. The experience of the smells of car oils, rusty metal and old tires ... ugh! Made me sick just to remember it.

But later on, as we had the chance at a better life when my father was posted to Australia as a government employee, I saw what my father was truly willing to spend on.

He and my mother were so willing, wait, no, so eager to spend on our chance at our future. They spent on Dallo's expensive tertiary education, textbooks, and equipment. Every need related to that went uncontested. A stark contrast to anything else involved taking money out of a wallet for my father. Later on, they would continue funding Dungi's Australian education even though at that time the family was already back in Jakarta and my father was nearing his retirement, earning back his meager government employee salary.

Both my parents would never try to justify even the slightest thought of owning luxurious things beyond their means to lift their social status. They were both authentic people, they didn't have the stamina to be pretentious, they enjoyed too much being who they were, and the only thing they liked to show off if they could, was the achievement of their children.

These were parents made in heaven!